


Thirty-Six Statements

by niick



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 36 questions, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Archivist Jonathan Sims, Character Study, Established Relationship, Eye!Jon, Getting to Know Each Other, In a way, Kinda, Lonely Avatar Martin Blackwood, Lonely!Martin, M/M, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Post-Apocalypse, Post-MAG160, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), eldritch horror boyfriends, just two avatars being dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24513445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niick/pseuds/niick
Summary: “It’s a… set of questions,” Jon says, considering how to explain in understandable terms. “They help a pair get closer.” He leans forward, looking somewhat abashed. “Like us.”Martin smiles.“Well, we have nothing better to do."Jon and Martin go through the 36 questions.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 28
Kudos: 198





	1. Set I - Questions 1-12

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired partially by the musical [ 36 Questions ](https://open.spotify.com/show/0E7Js81KkQ0CWzfROJh04n?si=I8G6vf9zSwaguZlJ9zYXfA), using the questions from the [ original study ](https://ggia.berkeley.edu/practice/36_questions_for_increasing_closeness).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each set of questions is 12, so I will be organizing the chapters as such! Hope you guys enjoy, this one is a lot more dialogue based than my other fic.

* * *

A recorder clicks on in an otherwise silent room. The only sound to be heard is a faint moaning from outside, muffled by thick, white curtains. If the whirring of the tape is heard by the occupants of the room, they do not remark upon it.

There is a rustling, and the smaller of the two men sits up in his chair.

“Martin?”

His voice is soft, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the quiet.

The larger man - Martin - shifts, looking up at the person sitting across from him.

“Yes, Jon?”

The man who we now know as Jon steeples his hands on the table. He thinks before speaking, although he doesn’t need to. He already Knows what he’s going to say.

“There’s a study.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s a… set of questions,” Jon says, considering how to explain in understandable terms. “They help a pair get closer.” He leans forward, looking somewhat abashed. “Like us.”

The man named Martin smiles, freckles shifting like shooting stars with the movement of his cheeks.

“Well, we have nothing better to do,” he says, voice chipper.

“Shall I begin, then?” The thin one asks, already settling into a more comfortable position.

Martin smiles, his hand falling to a cold mug of tea on the table.

“I’m ready, Jon.”

Jon begins to speak, his voice rich and steady. It is a voice of someone who is used to reading, although he has no paper to script off of. His words buzz with a sort of power, and anyone who is not used to it - is not Martin - would feel as though they were a bug, pinned to a board and studied intently.

Martin finds it comforting. He doesn’t feel much, nowadays, and the presence of Jon soothes his quaking nerves.

The questions begin.

* * *

**“Question one; given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”**

Martin laughs at this, the bubbly sound filling the silence.

“Oh, anyone? Hmm, that’s a tough one…”

Jon looks at him with fondness, watching as Martin pretends to be deep in thought.

“You, of course, Jon.”

This does not surprise him. He Knows how Martin feels, and has, by now, gotten used to his honest professions of love.

Jon leans back, a look of feigned embarrassment on his face.

“I was going to say the Queen, Martin, but now you’ve made me feel bad.”

They both laugh at this, and the sound feels foreign and strange in the haunting pressure of the room.

Jon gives Martin a tender smile, and Martin knows he is joking.

“Martin. _You,_ of _course._ I don’t think I could stand eating with anyone else, after all that’s happened.”

This prompts somber silence, but the moment passes. Jon reads the next question.

**“Question two; would you like to be famous? In what way?** **”**

Jon pauses.

“I’ll go first on this one, Martin, since my answer is obvious.”

Martin grins, lifting the mug to his mouth. (There is nothing in it. There has never been anything in it. He drinks anyway.)

Jon continues, “I’m already famous.”

“Oh?”

“Of course. Everyone on this planet sees me in their dreams every night, don’t they?” Jon chuckles, gesturing vaguely towards the window.

“Does that _really_ count, Jon?”

“My game, my rules,” Jon dismisses. “Come on, Martin, do you want to be famous?”

Martin actually does think about that one. A little wrinkle forms between his eyebrows when he thinks, and Jon finds it very endearing.

“No, I don’t think I would want to. Too much pressure, after all.”

Jon expected this answer, and it fills his heart with fondness.

Jon decides to amend his answer, if not for anything, for Martin’s sake.

“Of course. I would rather not be famous, if I could help it. Torturing people nightly isn’t _exactly_ what I hoped for when I dreamed of fame. I had always wanted to be a writer.”

“R _ea_ lly! You can’t poke fun of me for my poetry then, can you?”

Jon sighs.

“Question three.”

“You’re avoiding my statement, Jon!”

“ _Question three._ ”

“Okay, fine. I’m holding you accountable to talking about this later!”

**“...Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?”**

“Oh, a thousand times yes.” Martin punctuates this with a wave of his mug, which still holds nothing and will continue to hold nothing.

“You do seem like the type, Martin.”

“I don’t want to mess up!” Martin whines, finally placing the mug down. It vanishes in a cloud of mist, but neither of the men pay it any mind. “Besides, I avoid taking calls if I can help it.”

“This may come as a surprise, but I also rehearse what I say.”

“That sounds like you, actually. You _have_ to be perfect, don’t you?”

Jon laughs. The lights in the cabin flicker and, for a moment, he has far too many eyes. The moment passes.

“I’m just as nervous as anyone else, Martin. I just _hide it_ better.” He wags a joking finger at Martin, who is very busy moping on the couch.

“Next question. I _am_ learning more about you though, Jon.” Martin’s frown softens into a smile, warming the cold room.

“Alright, alright. **Question four; What would constitute a ‘perfect’ day for you?”**

“Hmm… another toughie…” Martin ponders this one, soft face turning thoughtful. 

“Well, you know I love rain, so probably a nice, cold rainy day, maybe a crackling log in the fire… curled up in my favorite armchair with some yarn and my needles. You would be there, reading a book out loud on my couch…”

He sighs, leaning back into the cushion.

Jon hums in acknowledgement, his face breaking into a smile. “You know, Martin, I think you just described my perfect day as well. That sounds… lovely. Really, anything else but the apocalypse would be nice.” He blinks slowly, and so do the lights in the room. Martin doesn’t seem fazed.

Martin laughs then, bright eyes coming up to meet Jon’s. 

“Agreed. Next question? I’m having a better time that I thought I would.”

“I do tend to have good ideas, occasionally.”

Martin reaches across to put a hand on Jon’s arm. The hand is very cold. Jon’s arm is unbearably hot. Neither one remarks on it, as though this is a common occurrence, and Jon continues.

**“Question five; When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?”**

Martin’s hand rubs down Jon’s arm, still as cold as fog. Green eyes blink open on Jon's skin beneath Martin’s touch, squinted in pleasure. This is normal.

“Oh, I can answer this one for the both of us! It was, um… Well, I was going to say this morning, but I don’t think morning exists anymore… Earlier.”

“Oh, yes!” Jon catches on, eyes, quite literally, lighting up. The ones on his arms bathe Martin’s hand in gentle green. “It was… oh, that one Beatles song. What was it?”

Jon knows, of course. He just wants to hear Martin’s voice.

“Strawberry Fields... Forever, if I remember correctly. You saw something down by the cow pastures and got it stuck in your head?” Martin says this with fondness, although he pulls his hand away from Jon’s arm. The eyes retract.

“Yes, of course. I remember now.” He hums a few chords, bringing a smile to Martin’s face. “We were out to see the cows, and one of the victims of the Buried was singing it, as best they could. Got it stuck in my head.”

Martin is unperturbed by this statement. They both are. This sort of thing is normal.

“Next question?”

Jon shuffles in place, taking a sip from a mug that had not been there seconds ago. This mug is steaming, though what is in it does not look like tea.

**“Question six. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?”**

“Ahh…. this is a doozy, isn’t it?”

Jon snorts. “Awfully idealistic, hoping we’ll live to ninety. I don’t think we even age anymore, do we?”

Martin blows a wisp of fog from his jumper. The color of the wool has shifted from green to blue, and it now matches his eyes.

“I suppose not. Even so, I would choose mind. I don’t think I could bear forgetting.”

“I agree with you on that front. I value my mind the most, after all.” Jon’s eyes flash green as he smiles, and the rest of the fog fades from the room as though shined upon by harsh sunlight. Again, the men are unbothered.

“Thanks, Jon. It always gets stuck in my jumper, must be something about the cables on this one.”

“Ready for the next one?”

“Of course.”

**“Question seven; Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?”**

This sets them both off into laughter, the cabin filling with the lilting sound. When Jon unfolds from where he had doubled over, his eyes (all of them) are watering. Martin nearly chokes on his laughter, coughing up a small cloud of mist. They make eye contact and nearly fell back into hysterics. 

Jon is the first to manage speaking, his words cut through with snickering.

“What do you think, Martin?” He lets out another low laugh, cutting the room through with static. “Which of the avatars could kill me? You know they all want to.”

“Jon! I wouldn’t lay a _finger_ on you and you know it.” Martin wipes away his tears, which evaporate into clouds on contact.

“ _Okay._ The other avatars then. Hypothetically, If I could be killed, who would do it?” Jon puts a theatrical hand to his face, stroking his stubble of a beard. “My bets are on Oliver. He seems like the reasonable sort. Maybe he’d let me leave this hellscape of a world.”

“Jon! You don’t mean that!”

“ _I’d take you with me!_ ” Jon whines, feigning a pout.

“Well _I_ think that Annabelle could put me down. She’s always had a soft spot for me, hasn’t she?”

“Hmm… maybe I could get her to kill us both together. What do you say, fun plans for our eventual one-hundredth date?”

Martin chuckles, reaching out for the mug that is not there and never had been. His hand touches nothing but he takes a sip anyway.

“Perhaps. Next question?”

Jon sighs, but his smile betrays his fondness.

**“Question eight; Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.”**

“Oh, this is a fun one!”

Jon snorts. “And an unfair one. You’re hard to perceive on the best of days.”

“Oh, come on, Jon! You can See _everything._ You’re just making excuses.”

Jon grumbles but looks up to observe Martin, eyes roaming from head to toe.

“We’re both prematurely greying…”

“Hey!”

“We’re both avatars due to our predecessor’s untimely death…”

“Peter was  _ your _ fault, Jon.” Martin tries to sound angry, but a laugh breaks through.

“...and we’re both hopeless romantics.”

“Ah!” Martin’s face breaks into a grin. “You’ve finally exposed your hand, I see!”

Jon scowls, but there is no heat behind it.

  
“ _ Any _ way. Your turn.”

“Okay, fine.” Martin looks Jon up and down, letting out a low, joking whistle. Jon gives him a frown at this, and he laughs again.

“Lets see… We both have unusually colored eyes-”

“Blue and brown are _not_ unusual colors.”

“I meant your green ones! And mine are practically white sometimes, right?”

“...Fine. Continue.”

“We’re both stuck in the apocalypse…”

“That one is true, albeit a bit obvious…” Jon’s face creases into a frown, but it doesn’t reach any of his eyes.

“You didn’t say they couldn’t be!” Martin beams. “...And we’re both wearing jumpers knitted by yours truly!”

Jon secedes at that, smiling down at his jumper. “Alright. That one _is_ a good one. You are the best at jumpers.”

Martin pumps a fist in the air in an exaggerated hurrah, his smile growing wider.

“Okay. **Question nine; For what in your life do you feel most grateful?”**

“You.”

Martin’s answer is instantaneous, and his surprise turns into a glare as he turns on Jon.

“Hey, you compelled me on that one!” His anger isn’t genuine, but he is a bit put off. Clouds swirl around his curls, making them frizz with the humidity.

Jon raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, laughing at the look on Martin’s face.

“I didn’t mean to! It might make you feel better, though, to know that mine is you as well.”

Martin softens at that, seemingly won over by Jon’s expression of fondness. The fog dissipates, leaving the room chilly and smelling of grass.

“That’s sweet, Jon, but please don’t compel me. We’ve talked about this - no avatar powers at the dinner table!” His serious voice gives way into giggles, and even Jon cracks a smile.

Jon reaches for his mug again but it isn't there. He shoots a glare to Martin, who shrugs and cracks a grin. The mug fades back into existence, the beverage inside now freezing cold. Jon drinks it anyway, out of spite.

**“...Question ten. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?”**

Both Jon and Martin perk up at that one, but Martin gestures for Jon to go first. While Jon is distracted, his mug fades back into the fog.

“I would’ve wanted my parents.” There is no hesitation, and Jon himself seems to be surprised at his boldness. “My grandma was too absent of a guardian,” he continued, “And I wish my mom had been there.”

He didn’t elaborate on that, but both know he wishes that his grandmother had never bought him that Leitner in the first place.

Martin clears his throat.

“I wish my mom wasn’t sick. And that she actually cared for me. Among other things.”

Jon can see the fog swirling around Martin, and he puts a hand on the man’s shoulder. It is cold to the touch.

“Martin. _Martin._ **I see you.** ”

The static behind his words finally does it, and the fog fades away.

“Sorry, Jon. We should move on.” His voice is soft, and mist hovers around his eyes.

“Of course. I’m sorry, Martin.”

Jon’s hand hits the table where a mug is not, and he sighs.

**“Question eleven;** **Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.”**

“Oh, a long one!” Martin’s eyes light up. “You practically know my life story, so I’ll shorten it so as not to waste our endless time.”

Jon smiles, leaning back and gesturing at Martin to _go ahead._

“Well. I was born in 1987, in Devon… My dear old dad abandoned us when I was maybe eight or nine, so it was just us two for most of my childhood. My mom was - is? Is she still around? Anyway.” He coughs, shaking away his own interruption.

“My mom _was_ chronically ill and in a care home, and I dropped out of school around… seventeen, I think? To go and care for her. You know the rest, yada yada don’t graduate high school, yada yada lie on my CV… yada yada get touched by the Lonely and become an avatar… just normal people stuff. You know how it is.”

Jon chuckles, static crackling in the sound. “Okay. I’ll go next, then?”

“Unless any other avatars of the Eye are in the room?

“Okay, okay, fine. I was born 1987, same year as you, in Bournemouth. My father passed when I was two, and my mother died soon after…” He repeats the facts with the certainty of Knowing, not even pausing on the words.

“I was raised by my grandmother and I was an _awful_ child. You know this. I was touched by the Web when I was eight through an interaction with a Leitner and, later, this led me to the Institute. You were there for the rest. Get touched by all the Entities, Elias was a bastard, etcetera etcetera, lose all of my friends except dear Martin… you know, ‘people stuff.’”

Martin laughs, arms wrapping about a pillow that had appeared in his lap. “We both had such _fun_ childhoods, didn’t we?”

Jon smiles softly, watching the pillow fade into mist. “Next? We’ve only got one more in this set, and then I propose we take a break for a… meal.” His eyes flash on the last word, and Martin’s laugh seems crueler than the ones that came before it.

**“Question twelve; If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?”**

Both of them make eye contact, and then proceed to speak in unison.

“ _I would just be normal._ ”

They both laugh, and the light in the cabin shifts uncertainly. To anyone else, the pressing sensation would be unbearable, but neither of the men seem to mind.

“Now, why don’t we continue this after a light snack?” Jon reaches an arm out, offering to Martin.

Martin loops his elbow through it with a grin. “I could really go for a tortured soul right about now.”

* * *


	2. Set II -  Questions 13-24

* * *

A tape recorder clicks on in an otherwise silent room. The quiet is cut through by the creaking of rusty hinges, wooden door opening to let faint screams filter through. The two men step through the door, laughing amongst themselves.

The tall, skinny one’s Eyes are open still, dotting down his arms in dizzying swirls and fractals. His clothes smell faintly of smoke, and his laugh is tinged faintly with static. His trouser leg is streaked in blood. The room flickers as he strides through the door, the eyes of the wall portraits turning towards him.

He is followed by his softer partner, round about the edges in a way that opposes his other. The man with the white hair is far easier to perceive than earlier, although his jumper is now wine red. The room drops a few degrees as he pads into it, and the portraits on the walls slowly fade into landscapes and backdrops.

The thing known as Jon settles back onto the couch, patting the cushion next to him. The one called Martin curls up next to him with a small smile, his jumper fading into pink.

“Shall we begin again?” Jon says, voice crackling and warm.

“That would be lovely,” Martin mumbles, patting his stomach in contentment. A wisp of fog escapes his mouth, letting out a small scream that is quickly silenced. Jon does not comment on this, his eyes focusing in concentration.

**“Question thirteen; If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future, or anything else, what would you want to know?”**

Martin hums in consideration, leaning back into the couch.

“Well… I think I would like to know how this all ends. Life is… fine here, and I’m with you, of course, but…”

The man pauses, eyes darkening.

“I’m afraid that someday you’re going to leave to rule your apocalypse. I want to know how to… make you feel comfortable enough to stay.”

Jon is silent for a moment, staring in ill-disguised shock at his partner. When he speaks, it is gentle and grainy.

“ _ Martin. _ I would never leave you. You are my  _ reason. _ Nothing will change that.”

Jon places a hot hand on Martin’s shoulder, who leans into the touch. Jon’s fingers twist away the fog, which burns away at contact with his skin.

“...Thank you, dear. What would you want to know?”

The one that calls himself Jon considers this.

“I would want to know how to kill Jonah.”

His voice is sharp and buzzes with anger. His eyes glint green, hatred flashing off of him in waves. Martin laughs softly at his anger, rubbing a cold hand down Jon’s face.

“Oh, of course. He deserves it after all.”

Jon shakes away his anger, the room lightening.

“Ready for the next one?”

At Martin’s nod, he continues.

**“Question fourteen; Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?”**

Jon screws his face tight, the little wrinkle between his eyebrows deepening. Martin chuckles at this, pressing a gentle finger into the crease.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to have a dog,” Martin says, dreamily.

Jon gasps at this, wrinkles smoothing out.

“ _ Really? _ I always saw you as a cat person… well, why haven’t you done it?”

“Too much work,” he sighs. “I don’t think I could bear going on a walk three times a day, could you?”

Jon’s smile is tender, and he weaves his fingers into Martin’s.

“I actually…  _ really _ want to learn to knit.”

The man laughs at Martin’s surprised gasp, continuing.

“You  _ know  _ me, Martin. I can’t resist something I don’t know how to do.”

“Why didn’t you say so? I can teach you.”

“...With what yarn?”

“There are sheep! I can learn to spin it!”

Jon laughs grow louder, the sound warm and full of fondness.

“Okay, okay. We’ll do that next, then. Go and find the Flesh’s sheep, that’s a lovely idea.”

Martin punches him softly in the arm, a grin still on his face.

“Come on, Jon. You let me distract you. Next question!”

“Slow down, Martin! We have nothing but time…” The man’s voice is chiding, but he focuses his gaze nonetheless, static buzzing as he Recalls the questions.

**“Question fifteen; What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?”**

Martin leans back, still clasping Jon’s hot hand in his own, chilly fingers.

“That would have to be… I guess when I finished my first jumper? It took me months, and I remember being so elated when I was done… does that count?”

“Of course, I Know how much you put into that… It’s not as though I’ve done much better in my life.”

Jon hums, thinking. He reaches his other hand out to the table, still searching for his mug that still remains intangible. With a sigh, he gives his answer tea-less.

“My greatest accomplishment… Normally I would say graduating Oxford, but, at this point in time, it seems to be bringing around the apocalypse. Scarce glory that brought me, though.”

Martin chuckles, swirling his free hand through a cloud of mist. It comes out the other side with a mug of cold tea clutched in it, which he hands to Jon. The man accepts it with a smile and a nod.

“That  _ is _ pretty good, Jon. Makes my jumper seem so small, eh?”

Jon elbows him softly, no heat behind it.

“I, for one, think your jumpers are lovely.”

“Oh, you flatter me, dear!” Martin waves a hand in the air, his face tinged pink. The rose of his sweater deepens into red, embarrassment clear in the flushing of his neck.

Jon absentmindedly traces the freckles on the hand he holds, smiling at the tiny constellations.

“Go ahead then, Jon.”

“Alright.  **Question sixteen; What do you value most in a friendship?”**

“Oh, this is a good one!”

“You say that about all of them, Martin.”

Martin ignores the remark, well used to Jon’s snark.

“I would say that… I value support. It’s important to me that they support me and don’t let me feel… well, Lonely, I suppose. Some good that brought me.” He finishes with a self-depreciating chuckle, fog swirling from his throat.

Jon leans into his side, disturbing the mist hanging in the air.

“...What I value most in a friendship… hmm… I think… it would be an ability to take things seriously when they need to be.” He gives Martin a pointed look at that, earning a sheepish grin.

“Hey! I can take things seriously.” The thing called Martin adopts a theatrically serious face, his mouth tight and eyebrows drawn. He manages to hold it for a moment before breaking into giggles, pressing against Jon’s arm. “Okay, maybe not.”

Jon gives him a tender look, the air buzzing with warm static.

After a pause, he continues.

**“Question… seventeen; What is your most treasured memory?”**

Martin lets out a little happy sigh at this one, his shoulders relaxing into the couch behind him. The room gets a little bit warmer as he recalls fond memories.

When he speaks, his voice is soft.

“My favorite memory… do you remember that day in the archives when… Tim decided it was a good idea to bring in fireworks? It was, I think, the day before we got off for Christmas, and he had insisted that we celebrate?”

At Jon’s fond and coaxing smile, he continues.

“Elias walked in when it was far too late, and he got a face full of sparks.” Martin laughs, the bright sound tinged with sadness. “Tim nearly got fired, and you gave him an earful for endangering the statements but… It was one of the last days we spent with Tim.”

Martin sniffles.

“...I miss them, Jon.”

Jon leans into his side, face somber but dry.

“My memory... is of them too. There isn’t a way it wouldn’t be. I can honestly say that… that those were the best days of my life.”

The man sighs, running his scarred hand through his greying hair. He continues in a subdued voice that buzzes with static.

“My birthday. The one that I recorded? I can’t stop playing it back in my head. Tim… Tim decided to bring me wine, and Sasha kept teasing me about my age. Elias came in for cake, remember? And he kept insisting…”

Jon laughs, his voice sad.

“This one involves Tim and fire as well, actually… I remember asking him to not have fire in the Archives, but he insisted on lighting the candles.”

The man sighs, pressing his face into his hands. His shoulders shake, and his sobs come out as static. Martin puts a comforting hand on his back, face damp with tears as well.

“Martin, I miss them so much.”

They sit there like that for a moment, holding each other. Martin’s jumper shifts into a somber grey, and the lights flicker with every shake of Jon’s form. Then the moment ends, and Jon straightens up. His face is dry, but his eyes are puffy and red.

“I’m… ready to continue. Sorry about that, love,” he says, quiet and buzzing.

“Please don’t apologize, Jon. It’s okay to feel things,” Martin replies, brushing misty tears from his eyes.

Jon smiles at him, then takes a deep breath.

**“Question eighteen; What is your most terrible memory?”**

“Ohh…. How can I  _ pick? _ ” Martin groans, face warped in feigned indecision.

“Martin.” Jon’s voice is strict, but his eyes betray the fondness behind his anger.

“...I think my most terrible memory is…” His voice cracks, and the smile immediately drops from Jon’s face.

Martin clears his throat and continues:

“My worst memory is… walking home from seeing the cows and… seeing the sky warp and twist… those  _ eyes, _ up there in the clouds… I immediately knew something had happened to you and I-”

His breath grew faster, new tears welling in his eyes.

“I thought _ something  _ had… had happened to you, Jon. The world  _ ended. _ I was just so  _ worried, _ I was so  _ afraid _ that you would be gone and I’d be all Alone again and-”

Fog swirls around his face, mingling with his tears. Jon cuts him off with a hug, wrapping tight arms around his shaking form. Martin’s rapid breath eases into sobs, muffled into Jon’s vest.

  
  


“Shh… Martin, love. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m always going to be here.  **Look at me.** ”

Martin complies, his swirling blue eyes meeting Jon’s warm brown ones.

“It’s going to be alright.”

Martin’s breathing evens out, the man melting into the hug.

“...I don’t want to upset you, Jon, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but… what’s yours?”

Jon is silent for a moment, just breathing into Martin’s frosty hair. When he finally speaks, his voice is low.

“Mine has to be… when Peter took you into the Lonely. I thought I had… I thought you were gone. That I lost you. I wouldn’t be able to stand myself if I had let you slip away, Martin.”

He buries his face into Martin’s curls, sighing.

“But everything is alright now. We’re both here.”

There is a pause.

“Are you okay if we continue? I’m sorry I… didn’t realize the questions would be upsetting.”

“It’s fine, Jon. We… we needed to talk about this anyway.”

Jon carefully pulls away from the hug, settling back onto the couch. He clears his throat.

**“Question nineteen; If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?”**

“Mmm… Well, this one doesn’t really work, does it?”

“Just… pretend we can actually die.”

Martin leans back into the couch, his jumper swirling blue.

“I don’t think I would change anything,” he says, confident.

“Oh?”

“I have you, Jon, and that’s enough.”

Jon makes a small sound, and when Martin turns to him, his face is red.

“I… same answer,” Jon mumbles, finally letting his embarrassment show.

Martin notices this, and pounces on him in an instant.

“So the stone-cold Archivist shows his true colors!!”

“Shut  _ up _ Martin!” Jon chokes out, laughter bubbling under his tone.

“Aww, Jon… you  _ love _ me!”

“Come  _ on _ Martin! You knew that already- ugh!” His complaint is cut off by Martin’s arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a big, fluffy hug.

Jon averts his eyes, grumbling in mock anger.

“Just… next question.”

“Aww…. Jonny  _ liikes _ me!”

The one called Jon intentionally ignores Martin, straightening his jacket.

**“Que...Question twenty. What does friendship mean to you?”**

Martin pulls back, halting his attack on Jon to consider the question.

“To me, friendship means… someone who will always be there for you. Who supports your interests. You know?”

Jon nods, settling into Martin's lap with a sigh.

“That’s a good answer… to me, friendship means… mutual respect. Two people who respect each other's boundaries.”

“Well, isn’t that a  _ Jon _ answer.”

“What did you expect? I  _ am _ Jon.” The man huffs, but he stays planted in Martin’s lap. His hair frizzes up against a jumper that is now a soft forest green.

  
  


“Ah. Fair point.” Martin nods professionally, breaking the impression with a grin. “Continue?”

Jon clears his throat.

**“Question twenty one; What roles do love and affection play in your life?”**

Martin nuzzles his head into Jon’s hair.

“I guess at this point… love is what’s keeping me sane. I mean, where would I be if I didn’t have you? Still in the Lonely, I suppose.”

Jon makes a small sound at that, brown eyes looking up to meet Martin’s.

“I suppose I have a similar answer. I think you… well, I think you kept me more  _ human. _ If you weren’t here to tie me down I..”

He gestures at the window where faint red light is filtering in from outside.

“I would be ruling  _ that. _ ”

Martin smiles into his hair.

“My little king.”

“Stop it, Martin!”

But Jon is laughing, and his eyes are soft with love.

“...I love you, Martin.”

Martin coos into the tangled browns and silver, pressing a kiss onto Jon’s head.

“I love you too, dear. Now, hurry up with the questions. I want to get some knitting in today.”

Jon sighs, content.

**“Question twenty two. Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.** Lighting round, then?”

Martin makes a small sound of agreement, and Jon can feel his mouth screw up.

“I’ll go first then,” Jon says, gently exasperated.

“You’re kind and always make me feel important. You give the best hugs, and you’re a perfect pillow…”

To illustrate this point, he sinks further into Martin’s soft stomach.

“...You’re good at cooking and knitting and tea, which are all very important traits to have. You make a good air conditioner when it’s cold…”

Martin snorts at that, smiling down at his partner.

“...And you stuck with me, even though I’m just a little bit insufferable.”

“Just a little bit?”

But Martin’s voice is soft, and he shuffles to place his arms around Jon.

“Okay, me next.”

Jon smiles up at him through a halo of frizzy hair.

“You’re an endless library of fun facts. You’re the only person who appreciates my poetry…”

Martin squeezes Jon’s hand with a little sigh.

“...You have a good reading voice, although you don’t approve of Keats. You’re surprisingly good with animals, as well as dealing with wild avatars…”

Jon snorts, the sound filling Martin’s heart with fondness.

“...And you stuck with me, even though I’m not... the same Martin I used to be.”

Jon turns to look at him, eyes bright.

“I’m not the same Jon, either. We’re the same.”

Martin tightens his grip on Jon’s thin middle, his smile widening to an almost painful degree.

“...I like doing these questions with you, dear. I like getting to know you.”

“Me too, love. I’m going to keep going, if that’s alright.”

At Martin’s nod, he shuts his eyes and begins to speak again.

**“Question twenty three; How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?”**

The cabin is silent for a moment as both men consider the question. Jon speaks first, voice measured and buzzing.

“Not much to say about this one. My grandmother was quite possibly the opposite of warm, and my childhood was actually traumatic. Not entirely her fault, but she wasn’t well fit to raise a child.”

Martin sighs, frowning. His mug fades into existence in his hand, and he takes a long sip as he considers his answer.

“I have a… similar answer. Distant family, distant childhood. Makes sense the Lonely chose me.”

The silence stretches again, fog joining the static in the air. Jon presses a warm hand over Martin’s, comforting and solid. The fog fades.

“Martin, this next question… it’s a tough one. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Martin considers him. He presses another kiss into Jon’s hair.

“I think I can handle it, as long as you’re here.”

Jon sighs.

“Last of this set, too.  **Question twenty four; How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?”**

Martin winces, his face tightening. The fog immediately returns, making the temperature in the room drop to an uncomfortable chill. Jon clears his throat.

“My answer is… short, so I’ll go first; my mother died when I was two. I never knew her.”

The silence returns, tinged with cold. Martin sighs again, the swirling fog forming a soft blanket over the two beings.

“...My relationship with my mother, huh?  _ What _ relationship?”

Jon winces at the venom in his voice, tightening his hold on Martin's hand.

  
  


“...I hardly knew her. She was cold and distant, and our relationship was completely one-sided.”

Jon feels cold tears soak into his hair, and he immediately sits up to turn around. He makes eye contact with Martin, warm hands placed on either side of the man’s face.

“Martin. Breathe. In, out. In, out.”

Martin’s breathing slows to a steady rhythm, and Jon relaxes slightly.

“Let’s… take a break. Those were, for lack of a better word, harsh.”

Martin hums in agreement, sinking further into Jon’s arms. As they embrace there, in a cabin surrounded by fear, a tape recorder clicks off.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...These were the hard-hitting questions, yikes. I saw them when scrolling through the list and knew it would be a tough chapter to write, so I hope I did it justice.
> 
> Anyway, hopefully I can finish the last chapter tomorrow! Thanks for reading!


	3. Set III - Questions 25-36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload on this one! This chapter is a tad longer than the others and I think it quite possibly killed me.... but here you go! My 34-page Google Doc is finally done and I can rest... at least until I need to work on my other fic again...
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading!

* * *

A recorder clicks on in an otherwise silent room. The lights are off, but the cabin is bathed in a warm pink glow from outdoors. In the thin quiet, the screams filtering in from outside seem almost ephemeral. The crackling of the tape wakes the lone figure in the room.

The larger of the two men shifts in his bed, and he reaches his arm towards the pillow next to him. When he finds it empty, he sits up with a sigh. Getting out of bed is a slow and arduous task, but Martin is in no rush. He carefully pops his back with a groan, stepping into warm, knit slippers

He immediately heads towards the kitchen, the path he wears habitual after an eternity of repeating the same steps. His slippers make a gentle whispering sound against the tile floor, not unlike fog.

The lights are still off, but Martin can see fine. He paces through the house, feet leaving a trail of mist in the shape of footprints.

When he reaches the kitchen, a soft smile flits across his face.

A tall, gangly shadow hovers in the corner. It squirms with eyes, shifting and moving as though alive. The kitchen hisses with static, the pressure rising and falling with every twitch of the eyes. Their pupils focus on the man in the doorway, widening in recognition.

Martin hums a greeting, shifting towards a cabinet on the wall with slow familiarity. He reaches in without looking, and his hand comes out with a small, pink bottle in tow. The shadow in the corner darkens, eyes squinting in scrutiny.

Martin lifts the spray bottle in his hand and gives it a press. Once, twice, three times, a sharp hiss of cold water splatters across the shadow. It retracts immediately, a high, staticky whine coming from somewhere in its depths.

The lights flicker with each spray, and when they come back to a steady glow, Jon is standing in the kitchen. His sleep clothes are damp, the t-shirt hanging off his frame dripping with moisture.

He gives Martin a sheepish look, shuffling over to his lover in a half-awake stumble. His voice comes out as a crackling grumble.

“...Morning, love. Was I doing it again?”

Martin accepts the hug, wrapping big arms around the spindly man. His eyes are full of warmth, and the love is evident in his voice when he speaks.

“I don’t mind, Jon. We’re all monsters here.”

Jon laughs into his chest, and the Eyes along his arms lethargically slide shut.

“Next time, shaking me will do.” He pulls back, giving the spray bottle an exaggerated glare. “I hate waking up all damp.”

Martin’s body shakes with a chuckle, and he puts a heavy hand on Jon’s shoulder. The dampness in his clothes immediately shifts and twirls, evaporating off into a thin mist. Jon gives him a loving smile, pulling fully away from the hug.

He yawns, stretching his arms upwards like a cat. “Thank you, Martin.” Jon pads towards the living room, the lights flickering along his path.

Martin follows after replacing the bottle in the cupboard. The fog hovering around him congeals into two chilly mugs of tea, one with two spoons of sugar and one a resolute black. He hands them off to Jon as he joins the man on the couch. The tea immediately warms at contact with the thinner man, and he passes the sweeter of the two back to Martin with a gentle smile.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few beats, sipping at their tea. The recorder continues to whir, though it has moved now to the coffee table in the middle of the room. Neither man gives it any mind, and the white noise of it mixes with the gentle screaming of the outside.

Jon’s careful static breaks the silence, his voice still dreary with something akin to sleep.

“Care to finish the questions over tea?”

Martin smiles into his mug, steam curling up and into his curls.

“That would be lovely, Jon,” he says, voice warm.

Jon clears his throat, a crackling sound that merges with the whirring of the tape recorder.

**“Twenty-five. Make three true ‘we’ statements each. For instance, ‘We are both in this room feeling…’”**

He trails off, lifting an inquisitive eyebrow at the man next to him. Martin hums in careful consideration, taking a deep sip of his tea.

“We are both in this room feeling… hm… tired.”

Jon chuckles, but he does not interrupt.

“We are both in this room feeling... fairly disgruntled?” Martin shoots a questioning glance at Jon, who responds with a shrug.

“We are both in this room feeling very gay and in love,” he finishes, voice brimming with mischief.

Jon practically cackles at that, his grey hair splaying out behind him as he throws his head back.

“I suppose those are all true, love.”

He places a warm hand on Martin’s skin, giving him a soft smile. Martin gestures at him to  _ go on _ , giving Jon a nonverbal challenge.

Jon sighs, placing his tea down to cover his mouth with that hand. Pink, scarred flesh rubs carefully at his face as he makes a low sound of thought.

“We are both in this room feeling… hungry, I suppose.” He gives a nod to the fog swirling around Martin, eyes flickering open and closed on his arms. At Martin’s nod of agreement, he continues.

“We are both in this room feeling  _ bored. _ ” 

At that, he shoots a pointed glare at the bookshelf, which is full of already well-loved books. Martin laughs, reachinging a cold arm up to snake around Jon’s shoulders. Jon continues with a cough, sinking into Martin’s side.

“We are both in this room  _ hating Jonah Magnus _ .”

Martin practically cheers at that, towing Jon’s arm along with his when he pumps it in the air.

“You can say  _ that _ again, dear!”

Jon smiles into the hand still covering his mouth, then drops it to reach for his tea. Fingers close around nothing, and he blinks his eyes shut in resignation for a beat.

“Martin, I love you, but please try and keep the tea you make…  _ tangible. _ ”

The larger man lets out a little  _ oh! _ at that, hands releasing Jon’s to flutter around frantically. The fog drifting around the table congeals again, forming back into something that looks close enough to tea.

Jon smiles fondly at him, dismissing the mistake with a pat.

“It’s fine, love. Shall we move on?”

He takes a careful sip out of the mug and is pleased to find that it resembles tea in taste as well. Martin gives him a slow nod, the man’s chilly hands falling back to hold Jon’s arm. Jon continues, voice grainy with static.

**“Question twenty-six. Complete this sentence: ‘I wish I had someone with whom I could share…’”**

Martin breathes out a thoughtful breath, filling the air with light mist.

“I wish I had someone with whom I could share… my dumb interests? Poetry, tea, knitting….”

He leans further into Jon, smiling into his streaky hair.

“I guess you’re that person, dear.”

Jon flushes, which makes the white, circular scars on his face stand out brighter against his already dark skin.

“...I wish I had someone with whom I could share my… insecurities. My flaws,” he mumbles, pressing his back into Martin’s side.

Martin brushes a kiss onto the crown of his head, and Jon can feel the smile in the movement.

“Of course, Jon. You’ve always been there for me, no shame in returning the favor.”

Jon’s face breaks into a beaming grin, and his eyes glow with warmth.

“Can’t have you fading away on me, can I love?”

Martin chuckles, a warm, rumbling sound that vibrates through his chest and Jon’s back.

“Naturally. And I can’t just let you be an Eldritch shadow creature all on your lonesome, what sort of husband would I be then?”

Jon’s Eyes flicker open and shut in pleasure, their pupils blown with love. Now that it has been mentioned, a glimmer of silver is evident among the scarred tissue of his left hand. It is simple, the only engraving on it is a faint pattern of clouds. If one were to inspect it, they would see the shapes shift and move as though alive.

Martin’s finger shines with a matching gold band, a small, eye shaped emerald set into the center of it. If one were to take it off and flip it over, they would see the words  _ “Look at me” _ engraved into the metal.

But that isn’t recorded by the tape, and is passed over by whatever Listens in.

Jon clears his throat, and the Questions continue.

**“Question twenty-seven. If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know”**

Martin laughs a full, hearty laugh, the sound filling the empty room with cheer.

“Oh, Jon. Is there anything we  _ don’t _ know about each other? I’m not sure I can find something  _ you _ don’t Know, in any case.”

Jon makes a small affronted sound at that, pulling back to cross thin arms over his chest.

“Martin! I have at least  _ some _ decency. I try my best to not Know things without permission, you know!”

Martin grins at him, his face the perfect picture of someone who knows exactly what they were doing.

“Okay, okay. I… hm… You should know that I  _ love _ children,” Martin says. His face warms to a gentle pink, jumper shifting to match the color.

Jon does not react strongly, oblivious as always. If he noticed the implication, which was unlikely, he didn’t remark upon it.

“I would figure, you  _ do _ seem the type.”

His face creases in consideration, completely ignoring Martin’s choking laughter behind him.

“You need to know that… I actually don’t mind your poetry.”

Martin nearly spits out his tea, spinning on Jon with a massive grin on his face.

“I  _ knew _ it!  _ Jon! _ ”

Jon’s face darkens, and he averts his eyes.

“We will talk about this  _ later _ , love. I am going to continue the questions and you will hopefully forget I said that once we’re done.”

Martin punches him lightly on the shoulder, but lets him continue anyways. He knows from experience that Jon could be  _ very _ stubborn.

Jon clears his throat dismissively, eyes sharpening back into concentration.

**“Twenty-eight. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.”**

Martin’s eyes go misty, both figuratively and literally. One of his hands flies up to submerge itself into his hair, grasping around the curls. 

“Ohhh… it’s going to be hard to just pick one thing…”

He continues to feign deep thought, watching Jon get redder and redder out of the corner of his eye. His face breaks into a grin, and he spreads his hands apart as if he’s a TV announcer.

“Your eyes? They’re such a gorgeous color. The brown is warm and welcoming, and the piercing green of the others is so  _ sexy! _ ”

Jon plants his face in his hands, red all the way up to his ears. Martin continues, still waving his hands.

“Your hands are always warm which is  _ great _ considering I run cold… you always listen to me when I talk and you’re such an active listener? And you Know a lot of things so you’re a big help around the house… You give really thoughtful gifts and you’re a cat person even if you don’t acknowledge it… Jon, I love  _ everything _ about you.”

  
  


He finishes with a grandiose gesture, hands falling to land around Jon’s shoulders. Jon’s face and neck are completely red at this point, and the heat radiating off of him practically burns away Martin’s mist.

After a moment, Jon lifts his face. It’s still red, but the blush is slowly fading. He clears his throat in a short, staticky burst, lifting his arms in an imitation of Martin’s previous gesture. His eyes begin to take on a mischievous glint, and his voice comes out strong and sure.

“You’re so big and soft, Martin. You are the  _ perfect _ shape for cuddling and I love that about you. And those big arms? I can’t stop thinking about being wrapped between them in a hug.” 

Now it is Martin’s turn to go pink, his jumper darkening into a flushed red. His hands grip tight where they sit on Jon’s shoulders, cold against his bare neck.

“...You always make me tea and little knit gifts, which never fails to make me feel like I’m loved. You make me feel so comfortable and  _ important _ when I’m around you, love. You don’t treat me like I’m a monster, you never act like you’re afraid of me… and you’re just so  _ cute.  _ You get excited easily and you love to infodump about the things you’re passionate about…”

He finishes with a soft smile, warm hands finding a place on top of Martin’s.

“I love everything about you, Martin.”

The two make tender eye contact, holding each other in the picture of domesticity. Jon leans up to press a careful kiss onto Martin, and they embrace for a moment.

Then Jon’s eyes flick over to the tape recorder, and he pulls back in embarrassment.

“Lets, um… continue this later.”

Martin nods, his eyes settling on the recorder as well. It continues to whir, and both men let out heavy sighs.

“I guess it wants us to finish the questions,” Martin breathes. They’re both used to the recorders by now, and there isn’t really any point in avoiding telling them what they want to hear.

Jon shakes his head aggressively, his hair flicking around him in a halo of grey. When he stops, his face is back to its normal shade of brown, eyes clear and bright.

“Okay. Let’s continue.”

He takes a deep breath, settling back into the couch.

**“Question twenty-nine; Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.”**

Martin makes a happy little sound in the back of his throat, leaning forward onto his elbows.

“Do I  _ finally  _ get to know contraband about Mr. Jonathan Blackwood-Sims?” He coos, giving Jon a grin.

Jon gives him a glare with no heat behind it, sinking further back into the couch.

“...Fine. I was in a band in Uni. Do with that information what you will.”

Martin practically squeals, and his hand flies up to cover his grin.

“ _ Really? _ Dear, you know you have to Show me now.”

Jon groans, trying his best to disappear into the couch cushions.

“ _ Joooon!” _

“...Fine.” 

He pulls himself out of the pillows, locking Eyes with Martin. His irises start to glow a dayglo green, and the room buzzes with static. There is a clear wrinkle between Jon’s eyebrows as he presses the information into Martin’s mind.

Martin snorts, dissolving into giggles.

“Oh my  _ gods, _ dear!” He snorts, desperately trying to keep it together. “You in  _ eyeliner? _ I had never pictured it before, but now I will be dreaming about it  _ forever _ .”

Jon is busily trying to disappear, but, sadly, he is not Martin, and therefore remains corporeal. His face is nearly as red as Martin’s jumper.

“...Shut up, love,” He grumbles, looking down. “Just… what’s your embarrassing thing?”

Martin lets out a low hum, his forehead wrinkling in thought.

“I can really only think of that one time I tried to deliver tea to Jonah-Elias…?”

Jon leans forwards, hands holding up his chin.

“Oh?”

  
  


“And I… uh… spilled tea all over his nice purple suit? The one Peter bought for him?”

Jon breaks out into laughter, clutching his knees. His eyes water, the moisture joining the whirling fog around Martin. The mist is very clearly tinged with embarrassment, but Martin is laughing as well.

“That’s  _ great, _ Martin- I can just imagine the look on his little weasley face!”

He dramatically falls onto his side, head planting into Martin’s stomach. Martin’s laughter is interrupted by a short  _ oof! _ at the impact, but they quickly both dissolve back into giggles.

“Ohh… Martin... I love you  _ so _ much.”

Martin threads his fingers into Jon’s greying hair, and his face softens into a smile. 

“I love you too, Jon.”

The tender moment is interrupted by an incensed whirring from the recorder, and both men shoot it another glare.

“Alright, alright, fine!  **Question thirty,** then!  **When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?”**

Martin groans, low and aching.

“Urgh…. I think I cried… well, whatever constitutes yesterday, right? When we were talking about my mum?”

Jon makes a small sound of affirmation, wrapping a comforting arm around Martin’s shoulders.

“I, uh… I cried in the shower last night,” Jon says, voice small and staticy.

Martin sits up, grabbing Jon by the arms. His hands are cold, but his eyes are warm with worry.

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

Jon sighs, putting a warm hand over one of Martin’s.

“No it’s just… I saw myself in the mirror again and… you know how it is. Everything about my body is just... It feels so  _ wrong. _ I wasn’t paying attention and I let the dysphoria take over and-”

Martin interrupts him with a gentle shake before pulling him into a big hug.

“Oh,  _ Jon. _ I’m so sorry you had to feel that way again… You know you’re my handsome husband, and I love you more than anything, right?”

Jon smiles shakily into Martin’s chest, bringing his thin arms up to reciprocate the hug.

“...Thanks, love. You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met.” His voice is wobbly, but his words ring with Truth. Martin plants three quick kisses into his hair before untangling himself from Jon.

“We need to satisfy the recorder fast, dear, because you  _ desperately _ need a good cuddle session.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Jon chuckles. He straightens out his t-shirt, eyes focusing on the questions that only he can See.

“Er…  **Question thirty-one. Tell your partner something that you like about them already.”**

Martin’s face twists in feigned concentration.

“Hmmm…. Something I like about my husband…..”

Jon laughs and hits Martin gently over the head with a pillow. Martin chokes on his words, and he has to force the next ones out through laughter and mist.

“I like that you always... speak your mind, dear.”

Jon shoots him a fond smile and answers almost immediately.

“You always have something nice to say, and you’re great at comforting someone, love.”

Martin shoves him gently, putting exaggerated anger over his voice. Fog twists around his hands and forms a pillow, which he pushes into Jon’s face with a laugh.

“Hey! That’s two things!”

“Revenge for the teasing. Come on, lighting questions now, Martin. I want those promised cuddles.”

Martin chuckles and nods, leaning away from Jon and straightening his jumper. The chords are now a streaky orange, interwoven with lines of yellow. Jon sits up straight on the couch, clearing his throat. The sound causes a ripple in the lights of the room, but they quickly go back to normal.

**“Question thirty-two. What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?”**

Martin squints in thought at this one, making a small sound of confusion.

Jon seems equally deep in thought, that little wrinkle between his eyebrows deepening.

“I guess I would say… mental illness? Like, depression… suicide… that stuff is really too serious to joke about,” Martin mumbles, shifting in place.

Jon puts a careful hand on his arm, waving away the fog of the Lonely.

“I can’t stand people joking about serious societal issues. Not to mention jokes about people’s gender and sexual orientation… that’s just something you shouldn’t make fun of,” Jon says, voice firm. His eyes are dark, and the lights in the room darken to match.

Martin puts a hand on his arm, mirroring Jon’s earlier movement. Jon unwinds, and the lights come back up to their normal brightness.

The thin man lets out a long, deep exhale.

“Alright. Next.”

Martin hums, leaving his hand on Jon’s arm.

**“Question… thirty-three. If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?** _Gods,_ that’s a tough one.”

They are both silent for a moment, carefully digesting the question.

Martin speaks first, his voice low and watery.

“I would just want to tell you that-” His breath hitches, and tears begin to well in his eyes. “I love you more than  _ anything, _ Jon. I know I’ve told you that over and over again, but-”

He’s shaking now, fog rolling in swift and cold. In one, smooth movement Jon has him in his arms, already cooing into his hair.

“Shh… Martin, love, it’s fine. We’re fine. Nobody is going anywhere, okay?”

Martin whimpers quietly, but the fog begins to let up.

Jon sighs into Martin’s hair, mumbling his answer into the white curls.

“I would want to tell you that you will  _ never _ be Lonely again. I will  _ always _ be with you, even if I somehow die. I swear I will force them to use my skin in the book and come back as a ghost to make sure that you are never Alone,” he says, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Jon inhales deeply, letting it out and letting the lights in the room dim. His words seem to have done the job, and the fog dissipates. Martin looks up at Jon, a smile coming back to his face.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Are you okay if I ask the next one? We’re almost done, love,” Jon says, gentle.

Martin takes a deep breath, pulling away from Jon once again.

“Y...yeah. I think I’m fine.”

“Okay.  **Question thirty-four; Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?”**

Jon lets a long breath of air hiss slowly out from between his teeth. The wrinkle between his eyebrows is back, and Martin can tell that he’s thinking about his bookshelf full of books.

Martin answers quickly, a smile back on his face.

“I would save that jumper I’m making for you. It’s taken me ages to get this far, I’d  _ hate  _ to lose all that progress.”

Jon looks up at him, eyes flickering with warmth.

“You’re… knitting me a jumper?” He breathes, a smile playing on his lips.

“Of course, you  _ twink _ ! You act like you’re all smart but you can’t tell why I took your measurements?”

Jon flushes at the tease, but his eyes soften.

“...I would take that book of poetry you wrote for me,” he says, a mischievous grin crossing his face.

Martin nearly screeches, straightening up in indignation.

“ _ You?? You read it? JON? _ ” He squeaks, face hot.

Jon puts a scarred hand over his mouth, shaking in silent laughter.

“I think it’s very sweet that you think… hmm how did you put it? That my eyes resemble a redwood forest, or something along those lines…”

Martin’s face and jumper go an even deeper red, and he sputters in shock. Fog swirls frantically around him, pressing icy tendrils up Jon’s side.

Jon drops the hand over his face, leaning over to give Martin a peck on the cheek. Eyes split open down the sides of his face, all focused on the man in front of him.

“I’m  _ sorry, _ Martin, I just Knew you were writing it and I couldn’t resist-”

“No! It’s fine, it’s fine! I was, I was going to show you anyway!” Martin splutters. “Next question please!”

Jon chuckles but obliges, knowing that there’s no fighting Martin once his mind is set.

**“Question thirty-five; Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?”**

Both men sigh at that, leaning back into the couch. Jon looks at Martin, a question fluttering in all of his eyes. Martin gives him a knowing smile, brimming with warmth despite the chill of the fog.

“Jon, of course you’re my family.”

Jon’s eyes light up, and a smile breaks across his face.

“Oh,  _ Martin, _ you’re my family too,” he says, kissing the back of one of Martin’s hands. “And I would find your death very disturbing because it is, quite frankly, near impossible.”

Martin laughs, pressing a kiss onto an eyelid on Jon’s palm.

“I would find your death disturbing, dear, because I do think it would end the world as we know it.” He pauses in feigned consideration, and then adds, “And also because I love you, of course,” as if it were an afterthought.

Jon chuckles at that, pulling his hand back into his lap.

“Okay, I am giving you the last question because this recorder needs to leave immediately.”

Martin’s face flushes, his freckles standing out against pink skin. He manages a nod, pulling his hands into his lap.

**“Question thirty-six; Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how they might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen.”**

“Huh. A personal problem? Hmm…”

Martin rubs his chin with a freckled hand, eyebrows knitting together in concentration.

“Well… the most obvious issue here is the apocalypse, I guess? The main problem is the boredom, I can only knit so many jumpers.”

Jon nods at that, making a small noise of agreement.

“I’d say you’re dealing with that pretty well, love. And, well, I can’t really blame you if you pull a few souls into the Lonely now and again.” He finishes with a warm smile, eyes flickering along his arms.

Martin grins at him, fog tugging at the edges of his smile.

“As for you… You aren’t dealing with the boredom very well at  _ all _ !”

Jon groans, planting his face in his hands.

“Not this again, Martin..”

“It’s true! You’ve torn the place  _ apart _ looking for books to read. Just suck it up and traumatise some people!” Martin chides, fog spinning around Jon’s arms.

Jon rubs the spot between his eyes with two fingers, groaning into his hand.

“I just… don’t like leaving you here Alone while I’m hunting.”

“Then it’s a date!” Martin says, eager.

Jon smiles at that, shooting a dreamy look at Martin.

“ _ How romantic, _ ” he says, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“I’m being serious!” Martin whines, “It’s basically a hike, after all.”

Jon leans over to press a kiss onto his cheek, and the lights of the room flicker along with his eyelids.

“Alright, love. It’s a date.”

And, as Martin pulls Jon into a bear hug, the recorder clicks off.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand.... finished! Thank you so much for reading, I love every single one of your comments. 
> 
> If you liked this fic, please consider checking out my other TMA fic! It is titled [ A Becoming ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24271243/chapters/58495837) and it entails a growing of wings and a loving of Martin....
> 
> I love you all! Thank you for the support!


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